AFCs get their deserved bum rap here, but what few of you realize is that ALL such crap is just a shadow of it's originator: Gaius Valerius Catullus, an ancient Roman poet who broke up with his girlfriend Lesbia and decided to write a long string of poems about it, and other bipolar things. Here are a few examples:
To this point here my mind has been dragged down,
Lesbia, by your fault.
And so by it's own devotion
the mind itself has destroyed itself,
As now it is not possible to respect you,
if you should become very good,
Nor is it able to stop loving you,
even if you should do every bad thing.
No woman can truthfully say she was so much loved,
as my Lesbia was loved by me.
No such trust was ever kept
in any committement before
as, on my side, my love for you was kept.
Lesbia says many bad things to me
with her husband at hand:
this is the greatest happiness for that idiot.
Mule, do you see nothing?
If she were being silent, forgetful of us,
then she wouldn't care:
now because she snarls and slanders,
she not only remembers me, but,
which is a much sharper thing,
she is angry. It is this: she burns and she speaks.
I hate and I love. How can this be, you might ask?
I do not know. But I feel that it done to me,
and am tortured.
What keeps you from killing yourself, Catullus?
No good reason.
Nonius, the slimeball, sits in the chair of a senator,
and soon he'll be a consul.
What keeps you from killing yourself, Catullus?
No good reason.
It's all there. The depression, the obsessiveness, the self-delusion, the bitterness. And what happened? he died at the age of 30. Let that be a lesson to you, and any AFCs who might whine to you for help.
To this point here my mind has been dragged down,
Lesbia, by your fault.
And so by it's own devotion
the mind itself has destroyed itself,
As now it is not possible to respect you,
if you should become very good,
Nor is it able to stop loving you,
even if you should do every bad thing.
No woman can truthfully say she was so much loved,
as my Lesbia was loved by me.
No such trust was ever kept
in any committement before
as, on my side, my love for you was kept.
Lesbia says many bad things to me
with her husband at hand:
this is the greatest happiness for that idiot.
Mule, do you see nothing?
If she were being silent, forgetful of us,
then she wouldn't care:
now because she snarls and slanders,
she not only remembers me, but,
which is a much sharper thing,
she is angry. It is this: she burns and she speaks.
I hate and I love. How can this be, you might ask?
I do not know. But I feel that it done to me,
and am tortured.
What keeps you from killing yourself, Catullus?
No good reason.
Nonius, the slimeball, sits in the chair of a senator,
and soon he'll be a consul.
What keeps you from killing yourself, Catullus?
No good reason.
It's all there. The depression, the obsessiveness, the self-delusion, the bitterness. And what happened? he died at the age of 30. Let that be a lesson to you, and any AFCs who might whine to you for help.
